Huzza! huzza! for the Good Old Cause,
'Tis a stirring sound to hear,
For it tells of rights and liberties,
Our fathers bought so dear;
It brings up the Jersey prison-ship,
The spot where Warren fell,
And the scaffold which echoes the dying words
Of murdered Hayne's farewell.
II.
The Good Old Cause! it is still the same
Though age upon age may roll;
'Tis the cause of the right against the wrong,
Burning bright in each generous soul;
'Tis the cause of all who claim to live
As freemen on Freedom's sod;
Of the widow, who wails her husband and sons,
By Tyranny's heel down-trod.
III.
And whoever burns with a holy zeal,
To behold his country free,
And would sooner see her baptized in blood,
Than to bend the suppliant knee;
Must agree to follow her White-Cross flag,
Where the storms of battle roll,
A soldier--A SOLDIER!--with arms in his hands,
And the love of the South in his soul!
IV.
Come one, come all, at your country's call,
Let none remain behind,
But those too young, and those too old,
The feeble, the halt, the blind;
Let every man, whether rich or poor,
Who can carry a knapsack and gun,
Repair to the ranks of our Southern host,
'Till the cause of the South is won.
V.
But the son of the South, if such there be,
Who will shrink from the contest now,
From a love of ease, or the lust of gain,
Or through fear of the Yankee foe;
May his neighbors shrink from his proffered hand,
As though it was soiled for aye,
And may every woman turn her cheek
From his craven lips away;
May his country's curse be on his head,
And may no man ever see,
A gentle bride by the traitor's side,
Or children about his knee.